Special Services – Day 3 – Panties
You wake up wet, again.
You remember the day before. You have been bolder than ever, you almost showed him your pussy. You wanted to do it. You wanted to masturbate; you felt his power. And yet you didn’t touch yourself. There’s a time for everything.
Yesterday, in the end, nothing happened. Even if you performed that nice show for him, it was already too late. The time ran out, you quickly finished the shelf you were working on, and left the villa.
There was no dirty handkerchief on the low tea table, and you felt disappointed with yourself, as if you didn’t do your job properly.
Entering the bathtub, you think about the next weekend already. And day by day, as the courses at the university begin and your new life starts to unfold in front of your eyes, the sense of excitement that you already know grows into you, squeezes your stomach, grip your thighs every time you realize the third working day at his place is one day less ahead.
Friday, beside your friends inviting you out, you end up spending the evening at home watching porn. It was so long since you did it last, that you are amazed to see the incredible offer the internet has for your new tastes. Exhibitionism, voyeur, teasing… almost everything you are experiencing, finally gets a name. Without realizing it, you are already pushing your limits far beyond you have ever done; your body already craving the feelings that old man stare gives you, the feelings you see mirrored in the faces of the actresses playing (and you are sure, enjoying!) their role.
When you wake up Saturday morning, your pussy is red, swollen, abused. It takes a bath, you favourite herbal cream and and all your concentration not to get horny again, to calm it down. When you look at it before getting dressed, in the early afternoon, you are satisfied with the result. Your lips are still swollen, but that may be a good thing, actually.
This time you didn’t shave. Your hair aren’t that long, and you want to show them to your client, today. You have plans, you want him to start playing with you a little more. After all, isn’t it unfair if he gets all the fun for himself? OK, he pays, but no man should ever turn on a woman and then leave her unfucked like that. It’s not fair.
In between from angry to horny, you leave your apartment heading towards his villa. Today you didn’t dress well at all, you know he’ll not introduce himself if he hadn’t done it the weekend before. Your jeans and white sneakers are not sexy at all; the purple t-shirt cut neither; the white jacket does its job trying to contain your massive breasts.
Ding – dong, you ring the doorbell, waiting for his voice from inside, but you here nothing.
Ding – dong, you ring again, and again you get no answer. You begin getting worried, but you soon remember that the previous week the door was already open. You try to push it, and meet no resistance. You regret having worn sneakers: heels would have made enough noise to introduce you. You peek inside the library, and are happy to see the reassurance line of smoke coming up from beyond the armchair back.
“I’ll be ready in a minute, Sir,” you say, entering the changing room. You wear the work outfit, you wear the heels. You chose one of your thinnest black thong for today: cotton, tender fabric that caresses your pussy lips, barely concealing them. A little surprise that you secretly hope will lead to continuing the game of the weekend before.
Walking to the library, you let your heels anticipate your arrival and stop just one step inside the room, waiting for instructions. But you already see the gloves and the tools you used the week before, and you know that job is not finished yet.
“Good Saturday, Lucy.”
It’s the first time he greets you. A good change, you think.
“This weekend we will continue what we have begun last time: the second line of shelves needs to be cleaned too.”
As you have thought. You let a disappointing sigh escape you, and you hope he didn’t notice.
“Not in the right mood for easy money, today?” he says with a hint of a rasping voice.
He did notice your sighing, indeed.
“I’m yours, Sir, to use as you wish.”
You try to keep him from getting into a bad mood, and a shiver runs through your spine when you notice the double meaning hidden behind what you’ve just said, but you don’t feel the need to clarify it furthermore.
Mr Black today hasn’t said anything about not turning around. But regardless, you follow the rules of the week before. You start with the fourth shelf, then the third. You’re faster now, but almost two hours have already passed when you kneel down to work on the second shelf, then the first.
Finally, you hear his breathing. The heavier one; the one you have begun to recognize; the one that is not followed by puffs of smoke. Your exposed ass is doing his job, Mr Black is enjoying your naughtiness.
You realize what you’ve just thought. You realize it’s what you want: to be naughty for him, to be dirty for him… or for yourself? You don’t think there are clear boundaries: what you do for yourself, he can enjoy; what you do for him, you can enjoy.
“Are these different panties?” Mr Black suddenly asks.
You hoped he’d notice, you hoped he’d ask. You suddenly feel a storm of butterflies moving from your stomach to your crotch. It’s like they grab your pussy lips and pull them apart, swollen, letting your juice finally flow out to wet the cotton, your thighs. Because your huge lips are already swollen, already poking out the borders of the thin line of cotton between them.
You do nothing to conceal it. The sensations you are experimenting are too precious to interrupt. The man is staring at your pussy, you know it. He is staring at it so much that he noticed you are wearing a different cut of panties.
Kneeling on the ground, your ass up, you fake cleaning the first shelf deep inside for some seconds. Then you retract, and stand up, facing the library.
“Yes, Sir,” you answer, “I allowed myself to substitute the outfit ones. I would like to prevent the irritation I had the last week. Do you mind them, Sir?”
You know he can’t see you properly now, the outfit covering half of your ass, and the line of your pussy. As expected, his answer comes very soon.
“You may lower them a little, like you did last time, in case you don’t feel well in them.”
It means he doesn’t mind, you think, smiling. And it means you’re leading the game, for now. It’ll soon be time for a little push, but first you have to let him boil a little in his expectations.
You kneel again, and slowly put all the books back in the shelf. At some point, even though you know he is surely staring at you, you casually slide one of your yellow-rubbered hands between your legs, and pull your panties away from your pussy, as if you need to unstick them from your lips. You do everything so quick and naturally – when you have to spread your legs a little to lean yourself towards the spot of the last book – that you are sure he can’t notice any willingness in the act.
As soon as you finish, you stand up, reposition the ladder in front of the library, and stop for a second there. You would like to turn around, to look him in his face and scream him your desires. You’d like to turn around and pull out your tits for him, in front of his face, just out of his reach. You’re filled with naughty images.
“Well, the problem is, Sir, that… ehm… may I speak bluntly, Sir?”
You know he’ll agree. He thinks he has thrown a hook, and he is looking forward to see if you’ll grab it. He doesn’t speak, but the humming coming from your back has the sound of an affirmative nod, so you continue.
“I’m not used to wear panties, Sir.”
This time Mr Black takes his time to answer. You don’t know if he is thinking of something to say, if he has begun to masturbate again or if, simply, he thinks there is no need for an answer. Yours wasn’t a question, actually.
“Would you work without them?”
Suddenly, his voice behind you, as a spear piercing through your mind, knowing exactly what you wanted to be asked.
“May I, Sir?” you ask again for a confirmation that, you’re sure, will arrive soon.
Indeed, this time he was waiting only for you to ask. Your fencing is getting in the right rhythm, your words and bodies are on the same wavelength, dancing to the same tune.
You know he is watching you. You know he is expecting something, and you want to provide. You slide your thumbs under the skirt of the outfit, raising it until it uncover your entire ass, grab the straps of the thin, black thong and pull it down. You feel the air touching your bare lips, you feel them open, swollen, spread as they look for the attention they deserve, as they crave for a man to please them.
You toss the panties behind you, towards him, casually. Of course, turning around to grab them is forbidden: it’s embarrassing to think he could grab them, find out how wet they are… you feel a wave of warm butterflies on your mound while the thought of the man feeling your excitement hits you. You imagine him, bringing your thong to his nostril, scenting your smell as you did just the week before with his own. You grip your legs, feeling the need to touch your clit. Your wetness is already pouring down your thighs, and it tickles.
“It’s definitely better now, thanks, Sir,” you say, then you casually climb back again up the ladder and start removing the books from another shelf. Your legs are not closed anymore; they are slightly departed, leaving to your swollen, drenched lips the space they need.
You know that your pussy is now completely visible to him. You know he wants you: there is no smoke coming towards you anymore, and yet the rhythmical, well-known sound of his breath getting heavier and his hand scraping on the textile of his trousers as he moves his hands up and down his hard cock.
You hope, and at the thought your pussy drips copious juices. He must see them, he must see how excited you are.
Oh God, how much you’d like him to come at you, now, from behind, slide his hard cock in your cunt, push it deeper, fuck you senseless, fill you with his cu-
“Are you feeling well?” His voice interrupts your thread of thoughts. You realize you’ve been motionless for too long, he must wonder what’s up with you.
“I’m… OK, Sir. I feel very, very good” you answer. “Too good,” you add, shameless. You’re sure he understands what you mean, by now.
“Time’s almost up. Please finish the shelf, before leaving,” he says, his voice now calmer, without the traces of the previous fatigue.
You get a grip of yourself, let go your breasts that you had unconsciously squeezed between your elbows in a desperate way to please yourself and diligently finish to clean the shelf.
“It’s done, Sir,” you say when you finish, and wait a couple of seconds to turn around. When you do, his armchair is already facing the window.
Without asking, you grab the dirty, grey handkerchief that has been left – again – on the small tea-table close to the armchair. You grip it, feeling his fresh cum dirtying your fingers, your head spins at the thought of his smell you’ll soon be able to feel.
Proud of your good acting, you reach out to your panties that are now lying on the armrest of the chair, but as soon as you touch them, Mr Black hands cover yours. The first contact between you two sends you goose bumps all over your body.
You abide by his rules.